


Trammelled

by killclaudio



Category: SS-GB (TV), SS-GB - Len Deighton
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, It's not a ship it's a shipwreck, M/M, Nazis and romance, The Author Regrets Everything, Trapped In A Closet, okay really it's a priest hole, please comment the author needs validation, trapped in a priest hole, unrealistically happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-29 04:25:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10846428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killclaudio/pseuds/killclaudio
Summary: Archer and Huth have an intimate moment in a priest hole made for two.





	Trammelled

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to rivier and me-fish for doing an absolutely amazing beta job and rescuing me from my appalling German and tendency to repeat myself. And for just generally being awesome. I'm so grateful. 
> 
> In case you’re not familiar with them, a ha-ha is a ditch with a wall on one side that separates gardens from fields in stately homes, sort of [like this](https://digwithdorris.files.wordpress.com/2013/12/l1010829.jpg).

“We were all playing for high stakes,” Archer said.

Huth shrugged in response. He wouldn’t complain, Archer thought. Huth had known the risks and chosen to play the game anyway. But that didn’t make any of this right.

He abandoned the wireless and settled into the chair across from Huth, trying to process everything that had happened. He needed to think of his son. But Huth’s genuine concern for Dougie made the idea of arresting Huth to save his own skin utterly distasteful.

The sound of distant trucks turning off the main road made them both look up. Huth glanced over at Archer. “Your last chance, Douglas.”

He shivered at the sound of his given name. Huth had never used it before, except a couple of times late at night in Archer’s imagination. He had never dreamed he would hear it in reality, but apparently imminent death had loosened Huth’s tongue.

“Priest hole,” he was saying with a scornful tone. He stubbed out his cigarette and sat back. “That fool Kellerman wouldn't even know what one was.”

The implication was clear; Archer should hide, and quickly. But the idea of abandoning Huth to his fate was distasteful as well. “Won’t it fit two?”

“And then what?” Huth sounded tired. “Where is there to run? Kellerman will find me soon enough.”

“Do you know what’s in that cigar case?” Archer asked him.

“I had my suspicions,” Huth said with a wry smile.

“How many months of research is that?”

“Three or four, at least. Possibly six if the American atomic program isn’t as advanced as I feared.”

“That puts me in a pretty strong negotiating position. It shouldn’t be too hard to convince them to take us all – me, you, Dougie, Bob, Mrs Sheenan.”

“Such optimism.” Huth glanced towards the window. “But I’m a liability. I would slow your escape.”

“Or you might help. No way of knowing.” Archer indicated through the door with a tip of his head. “Your last chance.”

Huth looked at him a long, long moment, as if he stared into his very soul. It was becoming a familiar feeling. Archer held his ground, returning Huth’s gaze as steadily as he could.

He must have done something right. Huth stood, his usual energy returning. “Very well. Quickly. Rip some of the fabric from those curtains.” At Archer’s blank look he shouted, “Go!”

The curtains were flimsy with age and came apart easily. Huth dashed into the kitchen and came back with a bowl of water. He dumped the bits of cloth into it then pulled out his notepad and started writing.

“Leaving them a map?” Archer asked sardonically, but Huth only threw him an irritated look and kept writing.

The paper was screwed into a ball and left on the table; Archer’s cigar case, ID card and pistol were shoved at him; and Huth picked up the bowl and fairly ran to the priest hole. “Quick, quick, get in.”

The trucks could be heard pulling up in front of the house as Archer clambered in. He ducked his head and pulled his knees up, shuffling sideways to give Huth space. Huth pushed the bowl of water onto an upper shelf where the paraphernalia of Mass would once have been hidden, tossed his hat and cane after it, then folded his long legs in behind Archer and pulled the wainscoting shut.

A gap in the panelling over the door let in a sliver of light. As Archer’s eyes adjusted he could see that the ceiling was hardly two inches above his head, and Huth was having to slouch to fit. They were sitting shoulder to shoulder, although there was barely space to contain them both, with their knees drawn up, feet touching the far wall.

Archer concentrated on breathing slowly, not letting the dust aggravate his lungs. If he coughed it would be the end of them. Beside him he could see Huth had his hands cupped over his mouth and nose to filter the air. For a minute Archer did the same, but it didn’t really help. Instead he sat with his hands on his knees, and tried to move as little as possible. He could hardly move even if he wanted to, his left shoulder jammed against the wall while his right was wedged against Huth’s.

If Archer had thought it through before making his offer, he might have realised that being trapped in a small space with Huth wasn’t the best idea. Neither of them had bathed since God only knew when, and sitting so close meant Archer was enveloped in the heady scent of Huth’s skin and hair... and how was it possible the man could still smell so good after the night they’d both had?

It shouldn’t be allowed. It definitely shouldn’t be allowed when Archer had nowhere to run and no way to stop his inevitable physical reaction to the man whose intense basilisk stare had held Archer mesmerised since Huth first arrived in London. 

The sound of the front door being battered down made Archer jump slightly. It was completely unnecessary – the door hadn’t been locked. Beside him Huth was smirking at their stupidity, and Archer felt himself calm down just the tiniest bit. They were hidden. They were fine.

Heavy boots tramped around the ground floor as soldiers lined the corridors. Archer could distinguish Glott’s long, steady stride – he was the only officer taller even than Huth – and Kellerman's rat-like scurry behind him. They passed right by the priest hole and on into the old dining room. Archer could hear Kellerman pacing but Glott was still.

“What is that?” Kellerman asked.

“Nothing, Gruppenführer. Just chemical calculations.” There was the sound of paper rustling.

Why would Huth write chemical calculations on a piece of paper and leave it out for them to find? Archer shot him a sidelong glance, but his face was impassive.

The heavy boots could be heard in every room, opening doors and tearing down curtains. Kellerman made a harrumphing noise. “Check upstairs too,” he ordered the soldiers. “Look in every cupboard, every closet, under every bed. I want them found!”

Most of the solid boots marched upstairs, although Kellerman's lighter tread could still be heard pacing back and forth through the ground floor rooms.

Archer shifted uncomfortably. The body heat of two grown men in such a small space was making it very warm, and his heavy wool coat wasn’t helping. No room to take it off, and he couldn’t take the chance of making a noise anyway. The slide of sweat and the prickling on his skin was only making him more intensely aware of Huth’s shoulder pressed into his, and the heat that was radiating off him.

Apparently Huth was feeling it too, because he reached up to undo the buttons of his collar and jacket. Archer risked a sideways glance. Huth had his head resting on the brickwork behind them and his eyes shut, the long line of his neck exposed to Archer’s gaze. He was always so buttoned up that just seeing the top of his undershirt made him look almost naked. Vulnerable. Archer’s efficient policeman’s brain couldn’t help but file away the image for later, for the late nights when he was drunk and hated himself and couldn’t stop.

He must have lost his mind. It was the only possible explanation for why his brain had rejected a pretty, flirty American journalist in favour of lusting after a ruthless, cold-hearted Nazi bastard. The problem was that Huth made him feel alert, aware, _alive_ in a way no one else seemed able to.

There hadn’t been much to challenge Archer’s courage or his intellect in the last few years, as he concentrated on keeping his head down and protecting his son. But every conversation with Huth was an intricate series of strategic manoeuvres that had the adrenaline thrumming through Archer, every sense awake as he tried to work out what the other man was thinking. For the first time in years he felt like his true self again.

It had been the same with Jill, Archer remembered. He had never wanted her more than when they argued, when the flash of her eyes and the curl of her lip could set his pulse racing for more than one reason. She had worked it out a year into their marriage, stopping short in the middle of a fight. “Are you…?” she asked, looking him up and down. He was, and he had shown her how much. After that she would sometimes pick fights with him deliberately, laughing as she did so, teasing him, daring him to take her.

But that had been a game he played with the person he loved. This was different. This was _dangerous_. Huth provoked him for sport and then laughed about it. Archer had to admit to some grudging respect for a man who would aggravate and infuriate until he got punched in the face and find it funny, but that just proved Huth was as insane as Archer. And the look Huth had given him afterwards, the way his eyes had drifted down Archer’s body like a caress…

In the danger was the thrill. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Huth was so intense all the time, watching him constantly, by turns praising and threatening, showing sudden moments of acute concern that threw Archer sideways every time. But he couldn’t afford to fool himself that concern for his welfare would prevent Huth from shooting him, if he thought it necessary. Or betraying him.

The soldiers were drawing a blank upstairs, and it was apparent that Kellerman had decided to try another tack.

“Archer’s absence is really extremely regrettable,” he said loudly to no one in particular. “It is clear he has not been involved in any wrongdoing. When he returns to Scotland Yard he will be able to continue his brilliant career.” Archer rolled his eyes. As if he was going to be taken in by that. “As a precaution,” Kellerman added, “I’ve had his son picked up from his home and placed under my protection.”

The look Huth shot through the door at Kellerman was pure poison. He raised an eyebrow at Archer, alarmed, and Archer hastily shook his head. Huth seemed almost ready to go charging out there and wring Kellerman's neck.

He put his lips as close as he could manage to Huth’s ear, trying to ignore the achingly intimate position. “He’s in the unoccupied zone,” he murmured as quietly as possible, “with Mrs Sheenan.”

Huth seemed to relax a fraction, and he smiled sideways at Archer. He craned his neck around, and Archer faced forward again so Huth could reach his ear. “Good work,” he whispered. “Well done, Archer.”

Archer tried to tamp down a surge of pleasure at the compliment. Kellerman's constant flattery had been so blatant and insincere that it was like water off a duck’s back; but when Huth took a moment out of his busy schedule of complaining, commanding and threatening to actually praise Archer, it meant something.

Huth’s breathy voice in Archer’s ear wasn’t helping things either. Archer spread his legs slightly, trying to make room for the growing bulge there while moving the folds of his coat to conceal it. His leg brushed against Huth’s, and Huth, seemingly concentrating on what was happening outside, moved his hand to still Archer’s knee.

Archer froze. Huth had touched him before, of course. The caress to his cheek, the offer of a job in Berlin. But Archer wasn’t stupid enough to put his faith in that. Drunk men did things they were ashamed of sober, and a Huth who woke up hungover and hating himself would have been capable of making Archer’s life very painful indeed. Just one of the many reasons he had practically leapt over the table to get away. 

The whole thing could only end with Archer’s messy death, an idea he didn’t much fancy.

Huth’s hand was warm and heavy, squeezing just slightly. Had he even noticed what he was doing? Was he _trying_ to destroy Archer’s composure? That seemed as likely as anything. Archer bit his lip and tried very hard not to think about what it would be like to feel that hand sliding up his leg, stroking the inside of his thigh, fingers inching higher…

In desperation he jerked his knee. Huth took his hand away and gave him a strange look. Little wonder, if Archer was sitting there panting and staring at him.

“Are you alright?” Huth whispered.

“Just cramped.” Archer scooted forward slightly. In this position his knees were bent even more but at least his shoulder was no longer wedged against Huth’s.

It made it a little easier to breathe, now he wasn’t touching Huth or looking at him. It made it… It made it a hundred times worse, because now Huth’s every breath was ghosting over the back of Archer’s neck, sending shivers cascading down his spine and making his vision swim.

Christ, he had to get a hold of himself. He didn’t need to moan or whimper or anything else as stupid and obvious for Huth to notice something was wrong. He was already suspicious; Archer could practically feel those blue eyes boring into the back of his head.

If Archer swallowed too often or the pattern of his breathing changed then Huth would notice, and he would _know_ , the way he always seemed to know everything, and there was no telling if he would be thrilled or horrified, and Archer needed to–

“Douglas.” The voice was low and soft and very close to his ear. Archer turned.

Huth kissed him.

No tentative first touch; no hesitation. Huth wrapped his hand around the back of Archer’s neck and kissed him with devastating confidence, licking his way into Archer’s mouth as though he belonged there and scraping his teeth over Archer’s bottom lip in a way that had him gasping for breath.

Heedless of the noise he might make he leaned into Huth, accidentally tangling their legs in the cramped space as he tried to get closer, and brought his hands up to Huth’s chest where he could feel his heart hammering under his palms. He tasted like French cigarettes and the way he was running his hands through Archer’s hair made his skin tingle.

After a moment Huth pulled back slightly to look at Archer. He looked like the cat that got the cream, smug satisfaction plastered all over his face – but vulnerable too, as though he couldn't quite trust what was happening.

Archer couldn’t resist. “And so at last a flicker of emotion. I thought I would never see it.”

“Don’t tease me, Archer,” Huth growled.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Huth’s irresistible gravity was already drawing him back in. Their lips touched again, igniting the fire in Archer’s stomach. Before he even knew what he was doing he had Huth pressed back against the wall, and the way Huth was groaning made Archer’s heart turn over and the blood sing in his veins...

Glott’s voice interrupted them, informing Kellerman that they were still nowhere to be found.

Kellerman lost his temper at that. “Burn it!” he screamed. “Burn it to the ground! No one leaves until every last brick has come down, do you hear? And I want to find their charred bodies in the wreckage! Burn it all!”

 _Fuck_. Archer pulled back and looked at Huth, wild-eyed. They were either going to burn to death or go out there to be shot. He felt the panic rising and tried to keep calm. Options. Could they get out through a side door without being seen? Was there a cellar that the fire wouldn’t reach?

Huth’s hand was warm and reassuring against his shoulder, and the look on his face calmed Archer slightly. He leaned forward and whispered in Archer’s ear, “I know this house. We will get out.”

Kellerman's men could be heard running up and down as he and Glott shouted instructions. It sounded as though they were setting fire to the curtains and chairs and anything else easily flammable. Huth gestured for Archer to turn, and they both shuffled so that Huth could reach the bowl of water. He pulled it down and passed Archer a sopping wet cloth, indicating his mouth and nose. Archer nodded.

They waited there in the half-light as the crack of splintering wood and the dull roar of flames got louder. The smell of smoke started to seep in under the door. Archer looked at Huth and Huth looked at his watch. One minute. Two. Finally, he put his hand to the door, testing the temperature, and nodded at Archer. “Keep as low as you can,” he told him. “And stay close.”

As soon as the door opened a wave of intense heat and choking black smoke hit them both. Archer held his breath, cloth pressed to his face, and half-crouched half-ran after Huth as he led them down the twisting maze of ground floor corridors. Through the green baize door into the servants’ quarters, down yet more narrow halls, across the flagstones of the old kitchen.

At every moment he expected flaming beams to come crashing down from the ceiling, but mercifully he got no more than a slightly singed coat and a lungful of smoke. Then Huth pulled him down a set of rough stone steps, across the wine cellar, and along three hundred yards of dark and winding passageway. There was a heavy wooden door at the end, which Huth leaned against.

It was cool here and practically pitch black, only the faintest light coming in from the far end, but it was enough for Archer to see Huth reach into his pocket and pull out his gold cigarette case.

“Not quite the moment to stop for a cigarette?” Archer suggested but Huth ignored him, pulling a slip of paper from the case before putting them it in his pocket. Archer looked at the door behind Huth. “Where does this come out?”

“In the ha-ha,” Huth replied. “Just south-west of the house.”

“The cellar door was open. They will have seen it and posted a guard.”

“Indeed. Let’s hope for a friendly guard, then. Cross your fingers, Archer.” With that Huth stepped back, drew back the bolt and hauled the door open.

Glott’s impassive face stared back at them. Archer’s heart shot into his throat and he stumbled backwards, but Huth only calmly stepped out into the daylight. He handed Glott the piece of paper he had been holding, which Glott stowed in an inner pocket. Archer followed Huth outside and saw that they were indeed standing at the bottom of the ha-ha, the bank rising steeply on one side and the wall on the other blocking them from view.

“The guards are all close to the house,” Glott told them quietly. “You should be able to reach the gardens without anyone seeing.”

Huth nodded silently. Without so much as a second glance for Glott he led the way along the ditch, Archer again trailing in his wake. Huth looked as dishevelled as Archer felt, his hair mussed and his clothing rumpled, although Archer noticed that he had managed to hang on to his bloody cane. He looked as though… he looked as though he’d been trapped with someone who couldn’t keep their hands off him.

The memory of the electric kiss in the priest hole, temporarily pushed to the back of his mind, hit Archer full force all over again, nearly making him stumble. If Huth could kiss like that in a cramped and dusty hole in the wall then what might he be like if Archer could get him to sit still on a sofa for five minutes or – Christ – a bed?

They circled around to the south side of the house, where the ornamental gardens stretched to the edge of the ha-ha. There was half a mile of open ground between them and the tree cover on the field side. Nothing for it but to hide in the garden.

Huth stopped and pointed to a statue of Athena among some rose bushes. “The folly,” he said quietly. “There should be enough space.”

Archer doubted it. The ‘folly’ behind the statue barely deserved the name; a round piece of marble no more than four feet in diameter and ten high, with a tiny arch cut into it at just the height a fairly short man might be able to squeeze through. It faced away from the house and with the arrangement of trees and statues was practically invisible from most of the garden – but that was useless if they wouldn’t even fit.

He opened his mouth to protest and discovered that Huth had already swung himself up over the wall and was sprinting across the garden. With a curse Archer clambered up onto the lawn and followed. Huth reached the folly first, ducking low to fit under the arch and then squeezing to the side to pull Archer in after him. Archer wedged himself in the tiny gap and caught his breath. _Oh_.

They were standing nose to nose in the cramped space and every last sweet inch of Huth was pressed against him. After weeks of denial and repression the pleasure was exquisite. Huth leaned forward to graze his teeth across Archer’s throat and arched up against him like a cat, producing delicious pressure in all the right places and plunging Archer into a haze of utter bliss.

He smacked his open palm onto the wall beside Huth’s head, trying to block out the intoxicating sensations long enough to think. He wasn’t done yet. “What just happened?” he asked.

“I’ll explain later.” Huth was obviously in no mood to talk.

Well, tough. Archer was in no mood to be kept in the dark. “You’ll explain now. What was that piece of paper you left on the table, for starters?”

“It was a note to Glott, in code. Telling him the change of plan.” Huth sighed, and pulled back to look at Archer. “Since I first started investigating Kellerman I’ve been spiking his guns as much as possible. Many of his staff members are my people, sent from Berlin before I arrived. Not Glott, but it turned out that he was open to a little bribery. And when I sent the paperwork on Kellerman's treachery to Berlin, I decided they didn’t need _all_ the details to convict him.”

“You were giving Glott a bank account number.”

“You should have been a detective. Kellerman was using several different accounts, and I have the details of a few of the best hidden.” Huth smiled. “How do you feel about 6 million Reichsmarks?”

“I think 6 million Reichsmarks and I could be very good friends. But if you already had a plan to get away then why did you...” As soon as Archer had said it the answer hit him. “You did it on purpose, you bastard. To find out how I felt.”

Huth didn’t even have the grace to look ashamed. “I thought some time confined in close quarters would tell me what I wanted to know.” He canted his hips again, and this time Archer couldn’t stop the groan that was ripped from his throat. “It did. Is our little tête-à-tête over now?”

He was wearing that infuriating smirk that had made Archer want to punch him more than once. Kissing the look off his face turned out to be infinitely more satisfying, especially when Huth made a desperate whining noise and grabbed at Archer’s coat to pull them closer together.

Christ, yes. Archer ground his hips into Huth’s, feeling the equal hardness meeting him there and the heat radiating off him. Huth dragged Archer’s lips back to his, plunged his tongue into Archer’s mouth and ran his fingers through Archer’s hair. Archer reached down to tug at Huth’s leg and Huth _let_ him, let him lift one leg up and rest it on his hip, and the change in angle only pushed them closer together and increased the pressure and God, right there, right _fucking_ there.

Huth dropped his head back against the wall, panting, eyes shut, looking totally and utterly ravishing, all trace of the commanding senior officer gone.

Archer wasn’t just hard now but throbbing, barely able to stop himself from rutting frantically against Huth, and judging by the sounds he was making Huth was right there with him. He pulled his mouth off Huth’s and sucked at his neck instead, making Huth writhe against him in a way that drove Archer mad. 

He bit down, a little harder than he’d intended, and Huth cried out and grabbed at him and then Archer could feel Huth's cock twitching and the warm, wet feeling as he came in his trousers. The sensation was like an electric shock, and Archer bit his lip hard as it tipped him over the edge.

For a minute he leaned against Huth as his heartbeat gradually slowed to something approaching normal. Perfect. Now he was sticky and uncomfortable in addition to everything else.

Reading his mind as usual, Huth said, “There’s a stream on the far side of the ridge – as soon as they’re gone we can go and wash. It will be cold, but,” his eyes ran down Archer’s body, “perhaps that’s a good thing.”

“If you take your clothes off in front of me I won’t be responsible for the consequences,” Archer promised him. “Cold or not.”

That earned him a real, heartfelt smile. “I’ll take my chances.”

As if on cue there was the sound of a truck starting, then two, then a roar as the whole fleet trundled off down the road. It seemed Kellerman was satisfied that they were either dead or gone and was off to look elsewhere.

They both squeezed out through the gap and Archer stretched his cramped limbs in the blessedly cool air. Another thought had just occurred to him. “Were you just going to let me think you were dead?”

“I had no idea you would even care. Why should you?”

“I was convinced you could see straight through me the whole time.”

“Well, since you mention it, you’re a shocking liar. When you told me there was no progress in the investigation I could barely keep a straight face.”

“You _didn’t_ keep a straight face. You kept smirking at me.”

“I wondered if you had noticed. No, I can read you well, but… not perfectly.”

That was a relief. “What are we going to do now?”

“Best to get out of the area quickly – Kellerman will be scouring the county for us. And you will want to pick up your son as soon as possible.” Huth nodded at Archer’s pocket. “And then – America?”

The idea was rapidly losing its appeal. “To be honest, I’m not sure anyone should have these calculations.”

“The Americans will win the war anyway,” Huth said with utter conviction. “Better to help them and be on the winning side.”

“And you? You’ll be on the losing side. The Allies have threatened to prosecute Nazi officers for war crimes.”

“According to official SS records I am a traitor who has been assisting the Allies. That should be enough to save me.” Huth hesitated. “If you take your cigar case to the US Embassy the Ambassador will be only too happy to give you a considerable sum of money and a ticket anywhere you want to go.”

“And where will you go?”

“I was thinking, perhaps… Portugal.”

Ah, yes. One of the last neutral countries on this entire godforsaken planet. Archer had a sudden vision of warm beaches and clear seas, of Dougie and Bob playing football in the sand. Let someone else fight out the rest of the war. In a small cottage in an unknown town on the Mediterranean coast, everyone he loved would be safe. They would have time to plan their next move. He would see if Huth knew how to play chess.

Huth had left his hat in the priest hole, and now the wind caught his hair and blew it across his forehead. Archer reached out a hand to gently push it back into place. The look he got in return was the most open and vulnerable he had ever seen on Huth. More intimate than a kiss. There was only one word for a look like that.

“So.” Huth straightened his clothing and resumed his imperious manner. “The nearest town is Bishop’s Caundle, only a little over a mile. The walk shouldn’t take long. Then we can drive to the unoccupied zone.”

“Where the hell are we going to get a car?”

“Are you a policeman or not? We’re going to requisition one. _Komm_.”

He strode off. With a sigh Archer followed. The stakes were still high. But he suspected that now, together, they had the winning hand.


End file.
